Moonscorn

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The trip to Whaterly the next day was uneventful, and that was reason enough for Hysteria to hate every moment of it. Being out of The Conservatory was a start, but it wasn't enough. She needed something ridiculous to happen, and she needed it now, or what else had she been unleashed from the cage for? She wanted to live her life, to run free, not be carted around like a criminal in the back of a police van, which, in a way, she supposed was exactly what was happening. The errant sunbeams that nipped through the thick banks of grey cloud only made it worse. She wanted to be in them, and the wolf inside her wanted to run away from them. Conflict between her Freudian id and superego, of course, and her regular ego was running rampant. Normally she tried to avoid cliches when it came to lycanthropy, but, in her estimation, there was nothing better to be found in the English language to describe herself than 'fucked up.'

They headed through Whaterly in the patchy morning gloom as The Conservatory's house was out in the fields on the other side. Hysteria hadn't been out in the world during the day much in the past few years since being brought into the fold, but she didn't think it was a particularly bad looking little town, now that she had the chance to see it in daylight. A few places were a little run down, and one of the cafes had obviously gone out of business recently judging by the lack of weathering on the big chipboard panels that covered the front, but everywhere had some of those. Nothing unusual here.

What she did notice, however, was the distinct smell of werewolf in the air. She had the window open a crack, and as soon as they crossed the bridge into the town limits it hit her like a punch in the face. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Saliva pooled underneath her tongue. It smelled good.

"Persephone," she said to the driver.

"You smell something?" her boss asked.

"How did you know?"

"Because I've been around you long enough to know when you smell something. Also you're drooling a bit. Is it wolf?"

"Yeah," Hysteria said quietly as she wiped the spit up with the back of her hand. "At least, I think it is."

Persephone frowned at her. It wasn't exactly right, but she didn't say anything just then. More observation was needed. Observe, observe, observe. That was what The Conservatory preached. To maintain the status quo, we must not get involved without thought. We must observe first of all, and then we plan. A bit like Star Trek. Persephone wondered why they hadn't named themselves The Observatory. Probably a rival organisation somewhere. Copyright was a bitch when it wanted to be.

They turned at the junction, following the sat-nav up and out of town. They passed over the spot young Taylor had been shot on without blinking. Both women had pushed that part of events to the back of their minds. Despite herself, Persephone couldn't help but cast a glance across to the trees where Raven had apparently seen something lurking, watching. Even in the daylight, Persephone understood how he might think someone had been there. The way the branches intertwined, and the roots knotted on the rocky ground, was like something from a Tim Burton film. Sleepy Hollow eat your heart out.

Once out of the town, the way was relatively clear. Hysteria clicked the button to shut her window again. "Can't smell it anymore."

"Was it just in Whaterly?"

Hysteria nodded. "Really strong there."

"Just a werewolf smell?"

Hysteria rolled her head on her shoulders from side to side. "Sort of."

"Hold on. Sort of?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean, sort of?"